Sunday, May 15, 2005

Rustle, rustle.

I was sitting here on my laptop at the office desk here at home and I kept hearing a rustling sound. I thought maybe it was the wind or something, but that didn't seem right. Of course the thought of a mouse entered my head, so I went up to the front where I expected to see an encore of last night (I saw a mouse scurry past while watching SNL), but, alas, there was no sound, no mouse. I went into the dark kitchen and stood there like a statue, waiting for the sound to reappear. There it was: a rustling from the trash. I stared into the bottom of the trash can, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the light. I thought I spotted our furry grey friend. Without averting my eyes, I reached back and pulled the cord to flip on the overhead light. There he was. Looking back at me. As I took a step closer, he tried to jump up and over the lip of the can. With a quickened pulse, I stepped back in response to his jump. But he had failed. He seemed to not be able to get up high enough, like he might be trapped. He jumped again, this time seeming to grab some footing on the side of the plastic trash bag. I kicked the can, knocking him back down to the bottom. I boldly strode forward and gripped the sides of the trash bag, quickly flipped it up off of the lip and cinched it up, tying our mouse friend inside. I could still hear him rustling, struggling against the bag in which he was sealed. I wasted no time in taking the trash bag out to the can in the alley. And when I got back in, I set a mouse trap by the garbage can.